Diary of a Renter (PART TWO) / Living one step from the street / An apartment manager loses his job, and finds his home may soon follow

Jerome Gagnon, Special to The Chronicle

Published 4:00 am, Wednesday, March 1, 2006

After being laid off from my position as an apartment manager, I get a "real job" and officially join the ranks of the working poor.

Feb. 1

First day on the new job. I forget everybody's name, clam up and temporarily lose the ability to do simple things like answer the phone and turn on the computer. I wonder if I'll ever be comfortable in this elevated chair on wheels. After a few false starts and spins around the floor the technique comes to me, like a recovered memory from skateboarding. It's all in the hips and the ankles.

One of my duties is to write "dry" copy describing lavish country houses and resorts -- something of an irony considering I've yet to come up with the rent this month for my humble studio apartment. The new management company has given me a few extra days to pay up, and for that I'm grateful.

Stay or move, that's the question. Stay and pay $1,200 per month, plus utilities, for this apartment on the fringes of Pacific Heights, or find something cheaper so I can pay the AT&T bill?

It doesn't make me feel any better to know that, according to the Mayor's Office of Housing, approximately 24,000 low-income households living in San Francisco's affordable housing units are paying more than half of their income for rent. That doesn't account for hundreds of underemployed, unsubsidized renters, like me, who are in pretty much the same situation.

I process this mental montage while walking down Clay Street near Van Ness: the homeless man huddled against the side of a building, wrapped in a tarp, his suitcases spread out around him; the blossoming plum trees like pinkish-white clouds, petals littering the wet sidewalk; the For Sale sign on the faux loft; the sound of duck calls overhead. Every moment is alive with an indefinable quality of freedom, tinged with beauty and sadness.

That, and the fear of rising rents and mortgage interest rates.

Feb. 5

A quick look at Craigslist proves there really is life after being laid off as an apartment manager. At least half a dozen apartments in the $800 to $1,000 range appear to be clean and bright, and in neighborhoods I feel OK with -- mainly those north of Market Street that are close to public transportation. Say I find one for $900: that leaves $300 for chocolate, savings, charity, shelter magazines, shaving cream and the like.

Here's the catch: Where do I come up with that hefty security deposit almost all owners in their right minds require? No answer to that one yet. I think I'm going to have to stay with Plan A for a while and hang in here in this little studio, maybe get an extra job.

On the advice of a friend I stay open to other possibilities. It's probably too late for me to marry rich, but you never know. I could also a) win the lottery, b) get a big advance for an, as yet, unwritten book, c) unknown. The important thing is to remain open and trusting, says my friend. Oh, yeah. There was also something else about "letting go," which could apply in a broad sort of way.

Feb. 6

I take time off from work for my appointment at the Eviction Defense Collaborative. The office is on the 12th floor in one of those vintage buildings on mid-Market Street, an area that's scheduled for redevelopment and affordable housing. (I'm not holding my breath on this one.) The waiting room is about half full with six or seven people.

Together, the intake worker and I figure out a budget based on my projected income for the next two months, a sobering exercise. I find myself glancing around the room at anything but this computer printout of a budget that seems to be staring me down. It looks as if I'll have to drop my cell phone service, for sure, and there are other items across the board.

Fortunately, I qualify for a rental assistance loan through RadCo, a city-sponsored program designed to help renters stay in their apartments (and keep rental income flowing to landlords). But first I have to get a letter from the management company verifying exactly how much rent is owed. I call and they say they'll fax back a letter in the next couple of days.

There's much to be thankful for, and I go back to the office in a good mood.

Feb. 9

I take the mattress off the sofa bed and put it on the floor. I don't care if Martha Stewart would approve or not, my back's killing me, and I need to be as sharp as possible at work so I can remember to put all the pieces back in Mr. Coffee before I turn it/him on.

Don't have any idea what I'm going to wear tomorrow. Haven't had the time or the inclination to do washing. Anyway, the old washers and dryers have been removed from the garage and the new ones are unconnected. Refusing to become a fashion victim, I rummage through the hamper and find a black linen shirt I haven't seen since last summer. I wash it out in the bathroom sink and hang it from the shower rod, just as Tony Curtis did in "The Sweet Smell of Success." Or was it John Travolta in "Saturday Night Fever"?

Passing a mirror I glimpse a reflection but don't look back.

Feb. 12

Maybe I should have taken advantage of those free tickets to the Millionaire's Conference at the Hilton Hotel back in January, a conference designed to reveal the secrets for achieving wealth in real estate. Secrets, no doubt, that could transform my life and open wide the floodgates to realizing my fondest dreams!

Oh, well, too late. Anyway, since my fondest dream is to write flawless prose like Truman Capote, the conference probably wouldn't have been be very satisfying.

Feb. 16

I'm still on the job and getting better at it, at least I like to think so. I'm even getting the hang of multitasking while standing on Muni in the morning, juggling coffee and the newspaper.

Reality check: This month's rent is a done deal, but I'm still going to be paying almost three-quarters of my income next month for rent and I don't know what to do about it. Should I think about giving a 30-day notice with my check in March? Should I stay and try to get more work? Should I move into a single room? Share a house or cottage? If only I could grow a house like a snail or wings like a bird. I'm drifting, and there's no one to lead me down the path of the unknown.

The path, I imagine, is a gentle rise, on either side of which are flowers as far as the eye can see. . Who knows where the path will lead?